Call Me Hans 1/?
Title: Call Me Hans
Characters: Landa
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: QT owns everything important. (in the fic, anyway)
Warnings: In this chapter: Explicit Langauge.
Summary: "Words are totally his kink"
Julie Henderson parked the big Pontiac in the space farthest away from the building. Not so much because it was the only one left, there were plenty closer, but because she wasn’t used to driving and was afraid if she parked closer she’d hit someone. She cut the engine and flipped down the visor, inspecting herself in the mirror she wondered if perhaps she should apply another coat of lipstick or re-powder her nose. She decided against it. It wouldn’t do for him to think this was a, a date.
Her fingers curled around the handle of the alligator valise, thankful it wasn’t a handbag. She bought it just after she was hired, back when she was still just an office girl and didn’t have anything important to put in but a ham sandwich for lunch. Back then, her days consisted of making coffee, filing things in triplicate, and taking dictation. Since the war things had changed. Not much, but enough that they were willing to utilize her other skills. She wasn’t Mata Hari by any stretch of the imagination, but she was good at her job in a time when it was rare for women to be trusted with anything that wasn’t the secretarial pool.
Sometimes Julie was surprised they gave her this assignment at all. Then, before she could swell with egotistical pride, she would pull the file and remind herself that she got this assignment because she was the only agent in the area who hadn’t already failed miserably. The fact that she spoke fluent German helped, of course.
With a muttered curse she applied that last coat of lipstick before sliding out of the car. The weather was bad, not raining, but the constant drizzle made her wish for an umbrella. By the time she got to the restaurant’s wide porch her hair had begun to frizz. The host knew her. She had been coming once a week for the past month, after all. He smiled and before he could speak, Julie ducked past him to the dining room proper.
The subject had specific habits. He preferred this restaurant to the other, more charming ones on Nantucket Island because it was expensive and because it was the most public. It was impossible for a person to come to this restaurant and not be seen. Julie hated that. She hated that he refused to meet anywhere that didn’t drip with upper class disdain. She gripped the handle of her valise and resisted the urge to put a gloved hand to her hair. She didn’t care what she looked like.
“Ah, hello Julia,” the subject’s voice carried over the heads of the other diners and Julie smiled tightly. “I’m so glad you decided to join me!”
It always started this way, the subject’s insistence on pretense. The pretense being that this was a social call. “Colonel Landa,” Julie ignored the chair he held out for her and pulled her own chair, across from him instead of on his right as he intended. He chuckled, making a show of returning to his seat and draping his napkin over his lap.
Julie leaned the valise against her chair. She didn’t bother with the menu, after months of lunches such as this she knew what she wanted-a simple salad with raspberry vinaigrette and water with lemon. Of course, that was never what she got. As soon as she was seated, the subject waived a subtle hand at one of the waiters and a plate of roast pheasant was presented to her. Julie didn’t eat meat.
“Now, I know we typically dine on the patio, but you’ll forgive me for choosing this cozier venue in light of the weather, yes?” The subject lifted his wine glass and swirled the Bordeaux, “Tell me, what shall we discuss this week?”
“Names, Colonel, we want names,” Julie draped her own napkin on her lap and lifted a fork. The pheasant was accompanied by asparagus and what appeared to be squash. Those would be alright, she thought, poking the squash experimentally. “You recall, don’t you, part of the conditions of your surrender was your agreement to aid the United States Government in it’s apprehension and arrest of certain…persons of interest?” The squash tasted like pureed rubber.
“No, I do not recall that being a condition of my original surrender,” He smiled rakishly and bit into his own pheasant with relish. It was always this way. After the appalling way in which the subject was treated in transit to the allied forces, he went out of his way to be as quietly belligerent as possible. Not that, strictly speaking, Julie didn’t blame him.
According to the file when he first arrived on Nantucket Island and the bandages had been removed from his forehead, he took to wearing a black fedora everywhere. Unfortunately, the expensive restaurants he frequented required that he remove his hat upon sitting at the table. Whereupon he took to wearing his hair without pomade, in a style that was almost bohemian, and certainly eccentric, with the added addition of the clipped beard and linen suit, he looked like a kind of gentleman farmer. His hair fell over his forehead boyishly and almost hid the bottom line of the thing that had been carved into his face. Almost, but not quite.
“I’ve always wondered why the OSS insists on sending its agents out to visit me. Surely you have something more important you could be doing with your time, Julia?” His smile was lupine and it made her skin crawl. “Some…friend you’d prefer to dine with?” He cocked his head, “Perhaps a lover. That is an arresting shade of lipstick. Although I wish you wouldn’t try to hide your natural beauty behind such paint.”
Julie found herself blushing. She hated him. “Colonel, you know perfectly well these visits are intended to facilitate your transition into civilian life. And, also, as you did agree to help us, they’re also to gather information.”
“Unfortunately I must disagree, my dear. I agreed to nothing. As I told your predecessor and his predecessor before him, as I was under extreme physical and emotional duress at the time of the ‘secondary surrender’ as your superiors so quaintly call it, I was not in sound mind and therefore could not agree to anything legally binding. American laws are so very specific about such matters, aren’t they?” He brushed his hair with a forefinger, flashing a glimpse of the abysmal scar. “I’m sure you understand.”
“Colonel Landa, as I’m sure you’re aware-“
“If you are about to remind me that my cooperation is the only thing standing between the American Government and the apprehension of any number of German war criminals, please refrain my dear.” The subject cut another piece of pheasant and chewed thoughtfully, “Surely I am not the only…what is that phrase…stool pigeon? Is that the phrase, stool pigeon?”
“You know perfectly well it is, Colonel.”
“Well then, surely I’m not the only stool pigeon on the American bankroll.” He sipped his wine, “Besides, your superiors make it sound as though the rise and fall of the Third Reich rests squarely on my shoulders.” He smiled again and the effect of the hair and the beard and the grin put Julie in mind of a painter, “The fall certainly, in part, but there were others who can take credit for the rise.”
“Colonel-“
“I would much rather discuss…” The subject gazed off in the middle distance for a moment, then rested his eyes again on Julie, “you, I think, Miss Henderson.”
“Me, Colonel?” Julie poked her asparagus. “I assure you I am not interesting.”
“Oh, but I disagree.” He flicked his fingers and the waiter appeared again, removing his plate and refreshing his wine. The subject nodded gracefully in thanks and returned his attention to Julie. She was put in mind of a cat with a mouse. “Surely you know why you were sent here.”
“Because you managed to turn Randall so inside out he was convinced you were the second coming?” Julie winced, her completely unruffled façade was slipping. It was always like this.
“Did I really?” He laughed and it was such a musical, delighted laugh she wanted to smile with him. The subject responds best to flattery, she made herself think. “I must say I do believe your people are giving me too much credit. Not that I mind, you understand, actually I quite like it. But I feel I should warn you that your man Randall was a bit… unhinged…before he came to me.”
I find that hard to believe, she thought, life as an OSS field agent was difficult. To ensure that agents didn’t become “unhinged” there was rigorous psychological debriefing after a mission. If Randall was “unhinged” before he came to the subject, then the OSS office would have known about it. “Oh? Then it wasn’t your way with words that convinced him to-“
“Most certainly not,” the subject looked affronted at the very idea. “I merely…asked a pertinent question. For instance, why do you stare at me with such clinical detachment, Julia? Do I frighten you that much?”
“I am not afraid of you, Colonel Landa,” and she wasn’t. She was…wary of him. After the third week she realized it was simply a general sense of unease, as though even at his most benign his mind was still working, gathering information-no matter how small or mundane-so that it could be used against her later. Julie wondered how he could tell she forced herself to be detached in her mind. How she only referred to him as “the subject” in her mind so that he never seemed real. Even when he was sitting right in front of her.
The subject cocked his head like a bloodhound on a scene, “Really, not at all?” he smiled again, aping bashful, “I must say that is refreshing.”
Julie sighed, “Why?”
“Well, because everyone on this island seems to be a little afraid of me, my dear.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially, “Did you know the children dare each other to see who can catch a glimpse of this infamous scar?” he flicked his hair again and this time she did see the full thing, it was so new it was still a livid red. “Perfectly nice people cross to the other side of the street when we meet on the sidewalk. Do you know I’ve yet to so much as meet my neighbors?”
Julie was surprised to find a thread of true outrage in his voice. “Surely that isn’t all because of your-“
“Don’t be naïve, dear, it doesn’t suit you.” He swirled his wine again. “Tell me something.”
“Yes?” She braced herself for a question about Aldo Raine. She knew from the file that occasionally he asked. The agent before Randall…Thomas? Yes, Thomas, thought perhaps the subject was plotting revenge, but Julie thought it more likely Landa asked directly because he liked seeing the agents’ response more than he ever really listened to their answers to his question.
“How does it feel to be found wanting because of your sex?” His eyes were hard, glittering.
“I beg your pardon?” Julie sat up straighter in the chair.
“We have a lot in common, you and I,” Landa’s hand flashed across the table to make his point and his fingertips brushed her knuckles. Julie pulled her hand back to her lap. His lips twitched. “You see, where you are ignored and underestimated because you are a woman, I am feared and overestimated because I am a Nazi,” here he flicked his hair again, “I say ‘am’, you see, because of this. While the party has disbanded, for obvious reasons, no one will believe that I no longer give my loyalty to that ideal because of this…constant reminder. Paradoxical, yes?”
“I suppose,” Julie wanted to say that she wasn’t ignored and underestimated by her peers, but she knew he was right. She only received this assignment because no one else wanted it. She spent most of her time as a field agent doing the same things she did as a secretary. Only, as a field agent she got to put off the filing until the end of the month.
“Now, I understand you speak German,” he laced his fingers together, “Don’t look so surprised, dear, of course you speak German. A simple matter of deduction on my part, you see, the only agents they send me are those that speak German. Though, Randall was also passable in French.” He grinned, “I do believe your OSS hopes that a conversation in my mother tongue will soften me up.”
“Will it?” Julie wondered where in the course of the conversation she stopped referring to him as “the subject” in her mind and started calling him “Landa”. From there it was a short jump to “Hans” and then it was just, well, she refused to end up like Randall.
“No, of course not, my dear, but I do so miss conversing in my native tongue. Did you know the people here assume a German speaker is the enemy? Even now that the war is over?”
“I’m sure it’s a simple mistake to make, Colonel.” Julie wanted to point out that it wasn’t just any German speaker. It was this specific German speaker.
“I do wish you would call me Hans,” he grinned, “Now, would you be offended if we switch to German?” He flicked his fingers again and the waiter appeared, whisking away Julie’s mostly uneaten plate. Next would be the desert course. She never bothered to order. Hans, that is, Landa, or, rather the subject, always chose the most ridiculous pastry on the menu.
“I suppose not,” she responded in the requested language.
“Ah, thank you,” he waved a hand like a beneficent king, “your accent isn’t without flaw, but it is wonderful to speak thus again. Thank you.”
”Mm,” Julia decided if speaking German would get him to pass along names of any ex-party members who might have defected to Brazil, then it was a small price to pay. “Now, the names, Colonel?”
“What names?” He smiled, “You didn’t think it would be that easy, did you darling?”
At Julie’s blush he laughed and the music in it gave her uneasy goose bumps. “It was worth a try,” she muttered.
“Ah, in German, please,” He nodded thanks to the waiter as the man placed a kind of sugary, honeyed confection in front of him. The waiter did the same for Julie and another appeared at her elbow to pour coffee.
“Thank you,” Julie murmured, reaching for the sugar bowl.
“You know, I do enjoy that blouse,” He watched her freeze for a split second before pouring a spoonful of sugar into her coffee, “When you reach across the table like that it outlines your breasts perfectly.”
“I beg your pardon?” Julie dropped the sugar spoon on the floor.
He made a ‘tsking’ sound in his throat and gestured for the waiter who arrived quickly to retrieve the dropped sugar spoon and replace it. As the waiter set about the business of putting the table to rights (there was nothing wrong with it) Hans, that is, Landa, admonished her, “Remember the German, my sweet.”
“For God’s sake, Colonel!” Julie didn’t hide her moral outrage and it flamed her cheeks.
“Surely you cannot blame me, Julia, that is a most arresting blush I’ve created on your cheeks, no?” He laughed and cut a piece of the pastry with his fork. Lifting it to his lips he gestured at her own desert plate, “Try the pastry, won’t you? I’ve been assured it’s quite good.”
Julie rolled her eyes heavenward, “You don’t think you’re the first to gobsmack me with a comment like that, do you?” And he really wasn’t. Part of the drawback of being the only women in a room full of field agents was being treated like a piece of meat. Perhaps that’s why she didn’t eat it, meat that is.
“Ah, but I am the first person who’s made you enjoy it, aren’t I?”
“Wh-“
“Don’t try to deny it, my darling.” He cocked his head to consider her, then the waiter who was still putting the table to rights. The man had one of those little whisk brooms and everything. Julie could tell he was trying desperately to understand some part of the conversation. She wondered, not for the first time, if the staff of the restaurant treated him, that is, Hans so well because it gave them gossip rights. “There is something most enjoyable about having a naughty conversation in plain sight, isn’t there?”
“Is that what we’re doing?” Julie’s fingers tightened on her fork and her eyes flicked to the waiter again. The man’s brow was furrowed, but he looked lost. No, he didn’t understand a word they were saying, did he? Gooseflesh broke out on Julie’s body, starting at her chest and radiating outward. She shivered because she couldn’t help herself.
He considered her for a long, amused moment, “Ah, yes, I do enjoy that blouse. I especially love the camisole underneath. You’re not wearing a brassiere, are you, you fiend? No, I thought not. I can see how I’ve affected you.” He laughed, the tone almost self deprecating, “Not only does that color perfectly match your eyes, but it makes your nipples appear as two blueberries, standing at attention.”
Julie flushed harder, she couldn’t help it. She wanted to put a hand to her cheek but she couldn’t. It would make the people around them think something was wrong. Heavens, the people around, they were in a room full of people and he was saying these things! “Colonel, I must insist-“
“But it is fun, don’t you agree?” His eyes danced, daring her to deny it, and she found she couldn’t. There was something…horribly wicked in this conversation. In knowing that should someone happen by that by some twist of fate also spoke the language in question they’d be found out, wouldn’t they? It was almost exhilarating in a way, wasn’t it?
“This is hardly proper.”
“Neither is what I wish to do to you, little Julia,” his mouth curled around the fork and she wondered if it was a calculated move to exhibit his sensuality or if he were simply enjoying his desert.
“And what is that, Colonel?” She leaned infinitesimally forward because she couldn’t help herself. He lifted a mocking eyebrow and she realized he knew exactly what he was doing with that fork.
“I do believe, were this table not between us, and these people not around, I would be forced to fly across the inches that separate us and attack that infernal blouse like a panther,” he cocked his head again, almost quizzically and took a long sip of his own black coffee, “I would then proceed to begin at that infuriating top button that is already beginning to come lose, and slowly work my way down, using only my teeth, to expose the delights of your flesh that lay underneath.”
The waiter returned with a pot of coffee, Julie glanced at him quickly, “That’s very interesting, Colonel,” she murmured in English, perhaps wanting to extend the madness of the game. “But what if that isn’t what I wanted you to do?” She finished, returning to German to pique the waiter’s interest.
Hans didn’t hide his approval, his chuckle, his eyes flicking back to the waiter, all served to make the man think they were discussing him. Was it any wonder he found something to do at the empty table to their left? “And what would you like me to do, my dear?”
“First, I want you to stop calling me ‘my dear’, I sound like a child. Second, I want the table between us. You see, I think I would like to see you fling it away in your passion. Do you feel passion, Colonel? Or is this conversation only for my benefit?”
“You little jade,” Hans lifted a hand to his chest, smoothing the front of his shirt when he really wanted to clap his hands in approval. “I do believe you’ve joined the game.”
“Isn’t that quite obvious?” Julie leaned her elbow on the table, something her mother would have boxed her ears for, and rested her chin on the heel of her hand. “Now, what was this about my buttons?”
Hans leaned back in his chair, making a show of adjusting the napkin in his lap. His mind worked quickly. “The blouse is silk, no? I’m afraid my lips would ruin it. I’ve a fantasy of discovering those budding nipples through that silk, lingering over first the left, then the right, perhaps rolling the peaks between my fingers. would you like that?”
Julie forced herself to remain calm, to breathe slowly through her nose as though nothing was amiss and her heart wasn’t pounding so hard she wanted to check to see if it was making her blouse flutter. “I shouldn’t wonder,” she made a show of helping herself to a bite of her own pastry. “But I could only enjoy it for so long, you know. That kind of teasing would get old, don’t you agree?”
“Some would tell you anticipation is the best part,” he sipped his coffee thoughtfully. “But I think you might be right. After discovering all the wonders of your breasts through that blouse, I would grow bored rather quickly. Unfortunately I’m a bit of a lout when I’m bored, you see, your blouse wouldn’t survive.”
“Tear it, would you?” she didn’t keep the amusement from her voice and the waiter lifted his head from where he was folding napkins at the next table.
“Oh, I should say so. Clean off your back. Then I’ll take a moment to enjoy that arresting camisole. Satin, I think, with wide lace edging. Tucked most becomingly into that skirt, yes?”
“Oh yes,” Julie’s left hand clenched hard in her linen napkin. “But I grow bored of what you will do, Colonel. Let’s say you are doing it, shall we?”
Where had this confident seductress come from? Julie enjoyed the sound of her voice as it dropped to a lower, sultrier, register. Landa sat up a little straighter. “For instance, right now my foot is inching across the floor under the table so that my toe can slide delicately up your calf.” It wasn’t, but the look that flashed in his eyes for a split second told her that he could feel it against his ankle.
“Yes?” he nonchalantly sipped his coffee. Julie marveled at his self control.
“I’ve kicked off my shoe, most improper of me, don’t you think? Anyone can see that just by looking at our table. But I can’t help myself, can I? My toe is inching slowly up your leg, the linen of your suit-is that linen, Colonel?-feels delicious against my stocking.”
She forced herself to take a bite of the too sweet pastry. To chew it mechanically, as though she were bored, and swallow, looking off and to the side at the fat business man three tables over.
“Ah yes, those delightful little toes of yours, my darling,” Hans placed his fork on his empty desert plate and moved it away from his place setting. The waiter would return to pick it up, “I’m reaching under the table now to catch your foot, and you’ve painted your toe nails for me. A most fetching red, I think. Right now I’m running my index finger over the arch of your foot, do you feel it?”
Julie closed her eyes and jerked her head. She hoped she appeared completely annoyed and not ridiculously aroused. “Yes,” she managed to bite out, her feet were always ticklish.
“I believe you’re right about the table. After inspecting your delightful toes, I must confess I’m overcome. I’m grasping it now, intending to completely overturn it. Are you frightened?”
“No,” his hand rested on the edge of the table, his fingers curled around it, his thumb tapping a gentle staccato against the table cloth. “I want you to. I want you to send the China scattering and the pastries rolling. And you are. You’re flying across the inches between us now and your fingers are curling around my upper arms and I like that they’re digging into my flesh.” The gentle flush that started in her cheeks moved to her neck. Julie knew there was no hiding it, but she hoped the wait staff would think she was simply warm.
The waiter returned to take Landa’s plate away. Hans lifted a finger from the edge of the table, “Some water for Miss Henderson, I think, Jeremy, she’s a bit flushed, don’t you agree?”
“Are you alright, Miss Henderson?” The waiter, the same waiter who was convinced they were mocking him, looked mildly concerned. Julie tried to ignore the butterflies in her belly. She found, to her shame, she didn’t trust herself to speak.
“I’m fine, thank you. Just,” her breath hitched and she resisted the urge to glare at Landa, “just the water.”
“Of course, Miss Henderson, right away.”
“He knows something’s wrong, Julia,” Hans’ voice was an amused purr. “He’s going to return with the host. What will we tell them when they arrive and I’m tearing your blouse from your body, your arresting camisole from your shoulders. Shall I shield your breasts from their eyes? Protect your modesty?”
“No,” Julie licked her lips quickly, surprised that suddenly there was sensuality in that simple gesture. The butterflies in her belly were traveling lower. “Let them look. To be honest I don’t care, I’m too busy fighting the buttons on that shirt. I’ve always hated men’s shirts. Those tiny buttons and the starchy fabric aren’t very conducive to this kind of thing, are they? I’m tasting your skin, Colonel, do you feel my lips against your neck?”
“Yes,” his face was a mask of polite indifference, but his eyes glittered and Julie gloried in knowing she affected him. “I confess I cannot stop myself from ripping your skirt. In my haste it seems I’ve forgotten to find the zipper and instead I’m simply jerking it up your legs. Does it hurt, little one?”
“No, not at all, I think I like it,” Julie had had trysts before. But nothing either of those boys had done to her compared to this feeling that was building inside her. “You know, I so wanted to see you today. I was in such a hurry this morning to get dressed. How does it feel to discover that I’m wearing nothing under my skirt but garters, Colonel?”
“Miss Henderson, I understand you’re feeling unwell?” The host’s voice cut through the conversation and Landa’s shuttered look of annoyance almost made Julie giggle aloud.
“I’m fine, thank you, simply a little warm.” Julie accepted the water goblet and took a small sip. “Perhaps it’s that I’m sitting under a light. What do you think, Hans?” Julie turned inquisitive eyes to Landa.
“Oh, undoubtedly the light,” he smiled arrestingly at the waiter, “Jeremy, I believe I’d like a dish of ice cream. I don’t normally indulge myself in so many sweets, but your desert chef should be commended. The pastry was spectacular.”
“Thank you, sir,” the waiter looked at Julie. “Ma’am, would you like-“
“And for her as well, I think.” Landa cut in cleanly. He returned his attention to Julie, effectively cutting the others out of the conversation. “You would like ice cream, wouldn’t you, you little wanton. Would you enjoy it as the treat melted on your tongue?”
“You’re very rude to them, Hans,” Julie smiled sweetly, but dismissively at the host and turned her attention back to Landa. “They’re kind enough to bring us refreshment and ignore our current state of dishabille, don’t you agree?”
“Oh, undoubtedly,” He inclined his head at her water glass, “Now that I’ve taken care of that fetching skirt, I cannot help myself from playing with your woman’s curls. You do enjoy that, don’t you? The feel of my fingers against you?”
“Yes,” she bit out, unable to stop her body from swaying forward. She hastily grabbed the water goblet to cover the movement. “Your trousers are proving to be a difficulty and it’s quite unfair, you know.”
“Yes, I know, but I’m delighted at how ready for me you are, my lovely. I’m pulling you from your chair, laying you out on the carpet, and your thighs are falling open most helpfully.”
“I’m very cooperative,” she murmured dryly, taking a hasty sip of the water.
“And I’m most glad, you’re so very, very ready for me, aren’t you?” He narrowed his eyes like a hunter on a scent and then grinned, “Your wetness is on my fingers and I’m using it to paint your lips,” he said conversationally as the twin dishes of vanilla ice cream arrived. “How does it taste?”
Julie’s face flamed completely red when she realized he’d spoken in English. So intent was she on the German that she almost answered him erotically. Instead she realized the waiter stood at the table expectantly, waiting for her approval on the silly ice cream. Julie forced herself to take a mouthful, larger than she intended and swallow. “It’s very good,” she complimented.
Landa’s eyes danced with triumphant delight, “You taste of cream, did you know that? Before I enter you, I’m going to taste you myself. I’m on my knees now, between your thighs. My lips pressed to your woman’s lips, my tongue searching. Do you feel it, Julia? Can you feel my mouth?”
Julie forced herself to take a nonchalant spoonful of the ice cream so she’d have an excuse to squeeze her eyes closed and murmur, “God!” without arousing suspicion. “You’re making me sweat, Hans, I can feel it trickling between my breasts,” and that was a truth in their little charade, “I want you to lick the sweat away, I want your mouth on my mouth, will you oblige me? Or shall I beg?”
“There will be no begging between us my pet, I’ll oblige,” he had a bit of ice cream on his lip and Julie wanted to moan, to wipe it away with her thumb, to lean across the table and taste his lip, “I don’t know why you had trouble with my trousers, little one, they fall open for me.”
“Yes, you’re heavy against my thigh, I can feel you there and I’m moaning against your lips. Tell me something: what do I taste like, Hans?”
He inclined his head as though in agreement, “Sweet, real cream, none of this synthetic American garbage. I must admit, tasting you might just be the highlight of my lunch,” he chuckled politely at his own joke and sipped what was left of his coffee.
“You’re going to make me beg, aren’t you? I can’t stand it, Hans, your fingers on my breasts, your lips on mine, your body above me and yet you’re not-“
“Do you want me inside you, little Julia?”
“Yes,” She nodded her head sharply to the affirmative, for a moment sounding all business, “Now.”
“German, my pet,” he finished off his coffee, “I’ve never been so aroused by a woman before. Funny that it’s you, fitting that it’s you, with your hair curling under my hands, that delicious smattering of freckles over your nose, and those eyes…I do believe you’re devouring me with your eyes, Julia.”
“I want to feel you in me, Hans.”
“And so I am,” he waved at the waiter and as the man set about filling his water glass, Landa leaned infinitesimally forward, “My first thrust has caught you by surprise, I’m afraid, you’re gasping against my neck. Have I hurt you, my delicate flower?”
Julie wanted to rock in her chair, instead she clenched her thighs together tightly, glad of the table cloth so that she could cross her legs in a most unladylike manner. “No, I quite like it,” Landa grinned, infectious laughter threatening to bubble from his throat. Julie caught the waiter’s eye, “The ice cream.” She turned her attention back to the Colonel, “You’re filling me up, you know. But don’t tease, please, it’s driving me mad.”
“You want me to move in you?”
“Yes.”
“Do you feel me thrusting?” The waiter removed Landa’s empty ice cream dish, “Do you like it like this, my love?” The waiter retreated to the kitchen.
“Yes, just like this,” The butterflies had become something else, a pulsing thing inside her, starting in her lower belly and traveling outward. It took all of Julie’s self control not to groan, not to let it show on her face. “Harder, Hans, I want to feel you!”
“Like this?” He clenched his jaw for a moment, but only a moment. Hans Landa wasn’t without his own iron self control. “Do you feel that, Julia?”
“Yes. I’m wrapping my legs around your waist, I’m glad you don’t pomade your hair because I can twine my fingers in it-- faster.”
“Harder.”
“Harder.”
“Quick.”
“Like that.”
“Longer.”
“Yes.”
“Fast.”
“Yes.”
“Now.”
“No, now.”
“Now.”
“Oh!”
“Yes-!” His laughter rang out across the dining room. He clapped his hands together because he had to do something.
Julie collapsed back against her chair for a brief moment and then immediately straightened. She was proud of the fact that her breathing was steady. That her hands were not shaking as she took a sip of what was left of her water. The silence stretched, became painful for her in the bustle of the busy lunch rush. “Thank you for lunch,” she said finally, because she had to say something.
“Thank your superiors,” he said affably, “as always it will be billed to them. I’m sorry you weren’t able to extract your names, Julia. Perhaps you’ll have better luck next week, yes?”
Julie lifted her chin. Next week. “I’m afraid there won’t be a next week, Colonel, We cannot keep wasting our time with your transition if you refuse to be cooperative.”
Landa’s eyes danced. “Oh, I see.” He reached into his breast pocket and extracted a fountain pen. He didn't take his eyes from hers as he wrote, very deliberately on his napkin, “Will you ask them to send someone else in your stead?”
“I don’t think I’ll have a choice in the matter, Colonel. If the OSS chooses to send someone new, then they’ll send someone new, if not then perhaps you’ll be left alone. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“Yes, I suppose it was,” he cocked his head, considering her like a bird, “should the OSS decide to continue sending someone, it would be best if it were you?” He folded the napkin quickly and tossed it across the table.
“Oh yes?” Julie leaned down and retrieved her valise, shoving the linen napkin in distractedly. “Why is that?”
“It would be a shame to waste the rapport we’ve developed, don’t you agree? I must confess I’ve never been so obliging to another agent. And it would do wonders for your career, don’t you think?”
Julie stared at him.
“I trust I’ll see you next week, my dear?” he reached down and produced a slim attaché case of his own. When she didn’t answer he rose, smoothly holding the case in front of him at waist level so as to refrain from knocking other diners. “Until then?”
“Of course, Colonel,” Julie answered faintly. Her eyes were on the flash of wetness at the front of his trousers, seen only briefly becuase of his hold on the attaché case.
As he passed her he bent, lips just brushing her ear, “You must call me Hans.”
Fin.
Characters: Landa
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: QT owns everything important. (in the fic, anyway)
Warnings: In this chapter: Explicit Langauge.
Summary: "Words are totally his kink"
Julie Henderson parked the big Pontiac in the space farthest away from the building. Not so much because it was the only one left, there were plenty closer, but because she wasn’t used to driving and was afraid if she parked closer she’d hit someone. She cut the engine and flipped down the visor, inspecting herself in the mirror she wondered if perhaps she should apply another coat of lipstick or re-powder her nose. She decided against it. It wouldn’t do for him to think this was a, a date.
Her fingers curled around the handle of the alligator valise, thankful it wasn’t a handbag. She bought it just after she was hired, back when she was still just an office girl and didn’t have anything important to put in but a ham sandwich for lunch. Back then, her days consisted of making coffee, filing things in triplicate, and taking dictation. Since the war things had changed. Not much, but enough that they were willing to utilize her other skills. She wasn’t Mata Hari by any stretch of the imagination, but she was good at her job in a time when it was rare for women to be trusted with anything that wasn’t the secretarial pool.
Sometimes Julie was surprised they gave her this assignment at all. Then, before she could swell with egotistical pride, she would pull the file and remind herself that she got this assignment because she was the only agent in the area who hadn’t already failed miserably. The fact that she spoke fluent German helped, of course.
With a muttered curse she applied that last coat of lipstick before sliding out of the car. The weather was bad, not raining, but the constant drizzle made her wish for an umbrella. By the time she got to the restaurant’s wide porch her hair had begun to frizz. The host knew her. She had been coming once a week for the past month, after all. He smiled and before he could speak, Julie ducked past him to the dining room proper.
The subject had specific habits. He preferred this restaurant to the other, more charming ones on Nantucket Island because it was expensive and because it was the most public. It was impossible for a person to come to this restaurant and not be seen. Julie hated that. She hated that he refused to meet anywhere that didn’t drip with upper class disdain. She gripped the handle of her valise and resisted the urge to put a gloved hand to her hair. She didn’t care what she looked like.
“Ah, hello Julia,” the subject’s voice carried over the heads of the other diners and Julie smiled tightly. “I’m so glad you decided to join me!”
It always started this way, the subject’s insistence on pretense. The pretense being that this was a social call. “Colonel Landa,” Julie ignored the chair he held out for her and pulled her own chair, across from him instead of on his right as he intended. He chuckled, making a show of returning to his seat and draping his napkin over his lap.
Julie leaned the valise against her chair. She didn’t bother with the menu, after months of lunches such as this she knew what she wanted-a simple salad with raspberry vinaigrette and water with lemon. Of course, that was never what she got. As soon as she was seated, the subject waived a subtle hand at one of the waiters and a plate of roast pheasant was presented to her. Julie didn’t eat meat.
“Now, I know we typically dine on the patio, but you’ll forgive me for choosing this cozier venue in light of the weather, yes?” The subject lifted his wine glass and swirled the Bordeaux, “Tell me, what shall we discuss this week?”
“Names, Colonel, we want names,” Julie draped her own napkin on her lap and lifted a fork. The pheasant was accompanied by asparagus and what appeared to be squash. Those would be alright, she thought, poking the squash experimentally. “You recall, don’t you, part of the conditions of your surrender was your agreement to aid the United States Government in it’s apprehension and arrest of certain…persons of interest?” The squash tasted like pureed rubber.
“No, I do not recall that being a condition of my original surrender,” He smiled rakishly and bit into his own pheasant with relish. It was always this way. After the appalling way in which the subject was treated in transit to the allied forces, he went out of his way to be as quietly belligerent as possible. Not that, strictly speaking, Julie didn’t blame him.
According to the file when he first arrived on Nantucket Island and the bandages had been removed from his forehead, he took to wearing a black fedora everywhere. Unfortunately, the expensive restaurants he frequented required that he remove his hat upon sitting at the table. Whereupon he took to wearing his hair without pomade, in a style that was almost bohemian, and certainly eccentric, with the added addition of the clipped beard and linen suit, he looked like a kind of gentleman farmer. His hair fell over his forehead boyishly and almost hid the bottom line of the thing that had been carved into his face. Almost, but not quite.
“I’ve always wondered why the OSS insists on sending its agents out to visit me. Surely you have something more important you could be doing with your time, Julia?” His smile was lupine and it made her skin crawl. “Some…friend you’d prefer to dine with?” He cocked his head, “Perhaps a lover. That is an arresting shade of lipstick. Although I wish you wouldn’t try to hide your natural beauty behind such paint.”
Julie found herself blushing. She hated him. “Colonel, you know perfectly well these visits are intended to facilitate your transition into civilian life. And, also, as you did agree to help us, they’re also to gather information.”
“Unfortunately I must disagree, my dear. I agreed to nothing. As I told your predecessor and his predecessor before him, as I was under extreme physical and emotional duress at the time of the ‘secondary surrender’ as your superiors so quaintly call it, I was not in sound mind and therefore could not agree to anything legally binding. American laws are so very specific about such matters, aren’t they?” He brushed his hair with a forefinger, flashing a glimpse of the abysmal scar. “I’m sure you understand.”
“Colonel Landa, as I’m sure you’re aware-“
“If you are about to remind me that my cooperation is the only thing standing between the American Government and the apprehension of any number of German war criminals, please refrain my dear.” The subject cut another piece of pheasant and chewed thoughtfully, “Surely I am not the only…what is that phrase…stool pigeon? Is that the phrase, stool pigeon?”
“You know perfectly well it is, Colonel.”
“Well then, surely I’m not the only stool pigeon on the American bankroll.” He sipped his wine, “Besides, your superiors make it sound as though the rise and fall of the Third Reich rests squarely on my shoulders.” He smiled again and the effect of the hair and the beard and the grin put Julie in mind of a painter, “The fall certainly, in part, but there were others who can take credit for the rise.”
“Colonel-“
“I would much rather discuss…” The subject gazed off in the middle distance for a moment, then rested his eyes again on Julie, “you, I think, Miss Henderson.”
“Me, Colonel?” Julie poked her asparagus. “I assure you I am not interesting.”
“Oh, but I disagree.” He flicked his fingers and the waiter appeared again, removing his plate and refreshing his wine. The subject nodded gracefully in thanks and returned his attention to Julie. She was put in mind of a cat with a mouse. “Surely you know why you were sent here.”
“Because you managed to turn Randall so inside out he was convinced you were the second coming?” Julie winced, her completely unruffled façade was slipping. It was always like this.
“Did I really?” He laughed and it was such a musical, delighted laugh she wanted to smile with him. The subject responds best to flattery, she made herself think. “I must say I do believe your people are giving me too much credit. Not that I mind, you understand, actually I quite like it. But I feel I should warn you that your man Randall was a bit… unhinged…before he came to me.”
I find that hard to believe, she thought, life as an OSS field agent was difficult. To ensure that agents didn’t become “unhinged” there was rigorous psychological debriefing after a mission. If Randall was “unhinged” before he came to the subject, then the OSS office would have known about it. “Oh? Then it wasn’t your way with words that convinced him to-“
“Most certainly not,” the subject looked affronted at the very idea. “I merely…asked a pertinent question. For instance, why do you stare at me with such clinical detachment, Julia? Do I frighten you that much?”
“I am not afraid of you, Colonel Landa,” and she wasn’t. She was…wary of him. After the third week she realized it was simply a general sense of unease, as though even at his most benign his mind was still working, gathering information-no matter how small or mundane-so that it could be used against her later. Julie wondered how he could tell she forced herself to be detached in her mind. How she only referred to him as “the subject” in her mind so that he never seemed real. Even when he was sitting right in front of her.
The subject cocked his head like a bloodhound on a scene, “Really, not at all?” he smiled again, aping bashful, “I must say that is refreshing.”
Julie sighed, “Why?”
“Well, because everyone on this island seems to be a little afraid of me, my dear.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially, “Did you know the children dare each other to see who can catch a glimpse of this infamous scar?” he flicked his hair again and this time she did see the full thing, it was so new it was still a livid red. “Perfectly nice people cross to the other side of the street when we meet on the sidewalk. Do you know I’ve yet to so much as meet my neighbors?”
Julie was surprised to find a thread of true outrage in his voice. “Surely that isn’t all because of your-“
“Don’t be naïve, dear, it doesn’t suit you.” He swirled his wine again. “Tell me something.”
“Yes?” She braced herself for a question about Aldo Raine. She knew from the file that occasionally he asked. The agent before Randall…Thomas? Yes, Thomas, thought perhaps the subject was plotting revenge, but Julie thought it more likely Landa asked directly because he liked seeing the agents’ response more than he ever really listened to their answers to his question.
“How does it feel to be found wanting because of your sex?” His eyes were hard, glittering.
“I beg your pardon?” Julie sat up straighter in the chair.
“We have a lot in common, you and I,” Landa’s hand flashed across the table to make his point and his fingertips brushed her knuckles. Julie pulled her hand back to her lap. His lips twitched. “You see, where you are ignored and underestimated because you are a woman, I am feared and overestimated because I am a Nazi,” here he flicked his hair again, “I say ‘am’, you see, because of this. While the party has disbanded, for obvious reasons, no one will believe that I no longer give my loyalty to that ideal because of this…constant reminder. Paradoxical, yes?”
“I suppose,” Julie wanted to say that she wasn’t ignored and underestimated by her peers, but she knew he was right. She only received this assignment because no one else wanted it. She spent most of her time as a field agent doing the same things she did as a secretary. Only, as a field agent she got to put off the filing until the end of the month.
“Now, I understand you speak German,” he laced his fingers together, “Don’t look so surprised, dear, of course you speak German. A simple matter of deduction on my part, you see, the only agents they send me are those that speak German. Though, Randall was also passable in French.” He grinned, “I do believe your OSS hopes that a conversation in my mother tongue will soften me up.”
“Will it?” Julie wondered where in the course of the conversation she stopped referring to him as “the subject” in her mind and started calling him “Landa”. From there it was a short jump to “Hans” and then it was just, well, she refused to end up like Randall.
“No, of course not, my dear, but I do so miss conversing in my native tongue. Did you know the people here assume a German speaker is the enemy? Even now that the war is over?”
“I’m sure it’s a simple mistake to make, Colonel.” Julie wanted to point out that it wasn’t just any German speaker. It was this specific German speaker.
“I do wish you would call me Hans,” he grinned, “Now, would you be offended if we switch to German?” He flicked his fingers again and the waiter appeared, whisking away Julie’s mostly uneaten plate. Next would be the desert course. She never bothered to order. Hans, that is, Landa, or, rather the subject, always chose the most ridiculous pastry on the menu.
“I suppose not,” she responded in the requested language.
“Ah, thank you,” he waved a hand like a beneficent king, “your accent isn’t without flaw, but it is wonderful to speak thus again. Thank you.”
”Mm,” Julia decided if speaking German would get him to pass along names of any ex-party members who might have defected to Brazil, then it was a small price to pay. “Now, the names, Colonel?”
“What names?” He smiled, “You didn’t think it would be that easy, did you darling?”
At Julie’s blush he laughed and the music in it gave her uneasy goose bumps. “It was worth a try,” she muttered.
“Ah, in German, please,” He nodded thanks to the waiter as the man placed a kind of sugary, honeyed confection in front of him. The waiter did the same for Julie and another appeared at her elbow to pour coffee.
“Thank you,” Julie murmured, reaching for the sugar bowl.
“You know, I do enjoy that blouse,” He watched her freeze for a split second before pouring a spoonful of sugar into her coffee, “When you reach across the table like that it outlines your breasts perfectly.”
“I beg your pardon?” Julie dropped the sugar spoon on the floor.
He made a ‘tsking’ sound in his throat and gestured for the waiter who arrived quickly to retrieve the dropped sugar spoon and replace it. As the waiter set about the business of putting the table to rights (there was nothing wrong with it) Hans, that is, Landa, admonished her, “Remember the German, my sweet.”
“For God’s sake, Colonel!” Julie didn’t hide her moral outrage and it flamed her cheeks.
“Surely you cannot blame me, Julia, that is a most arresting blush I’ve created on your cheeks, no?” He laughed and cut a piece of the pastry with his fork. Lifting it to his lips he gestured at her own desert plate, “Try the pastry, won’t you? I’ve been assured it’s quite good.”
Julie rolled her eyes heavenward, “You don’t think you’re the first to gobsmack me with a comment like that, do you?” And he really wasn’t. Part of the drawback of being the only women in a room full of field agents was being treated like a piece of meat. Perhaps that’s why she didn’t eat it, meat that is.
“Ah, but I am the first person who’s made you enjoy it, aren’t I?”
“Wh-“
“Don’t try to deny it, my darling.” He cocked his head to consider her, then the waiter who was still putting the table to rights. The man had one of those little whisk brooms and everything. Julie could tell he was trying desperately to understand some part of the conversation. She wondered, not for the first time, if the staff of the restaurant treated him, that is, Hans so well because it gave them gossip rights. “There is something most enjoyable about having a naughty conversation in plain sight, isn’t there?”
“Is that what we’re doing?” Julie’s fingers tightened on her fork and her eyes flicked to the waiter again. The man’s brow was furrowed, but he looked lost. No, he didn’t understand a word they were saying, did he? Gooseflesh broke out on Julie’s body, starting at her chest and radiating outward. She shivered because she couldn’t help herself.
He considered her for a long, amused moment, “Ah, yes, I do enjoy that blouse. I especially love the camisole underneath. You’re not wearing a brassiere, are you, you fiend? No, I thought not. I can see how I’ve affected you.” He laughed, the tone almost self deprecating, “Not only does that color perfectly match your eyes, but it makes your nipples appear as two blueberries, standing at attention.”
Julie flushed harder, she couldn’t help it. She wanted to put a hand to her cheek but she couldn’t. It would make the people around them think something was wrong. Heavens, the people around, they were in a room full of people and he was saying these things! “Colonel, I must insist-“
“But it is fun, don’t you agree?” His eyes danced, daring her to deny it, and she found she couldn’t. There was something…horribly wicked in this conversation. In knowing that should someone happen by that by some twist of fate also spoke the language in question they’d be found out, wouldn’t they? It was almost exhilarating in a way, wasn’t it?
“This is hardly proper.”
“Neither is what I wish to do to you, little Julia,” his mouth curled around the fork and she wondered if it was a calculated move to exhibit his sensuality or if he were simply enjoying his desert.
“And what is that, Colonel?” She leaned infinitesimally forward because she couldn’t help herself. He lifted a mocking eyebrow and she realized he knew exactly what he was doing with that fork.
“I do believe, were this table not between us, and these people not around, I would be forced to fly across the inches that separate us and attack that infernal blouse like a panther,” he cocked his head again, almost quizzically and took a long sip of his own black coffee, “I would then proceed to begin at that infuriating top button that is already beginning to come lose, and slowly work my way down, using only my teeth, to expose the delights of your flesh that lay underneath.”
The waiter returned with a pot of coffee, Julie glanced at him quickly, “That’s very interesting, Colonel,” she murmured in English, perhaps wanting to extend the madness of the game. “But what if that isn’t what I wanted you to do?” She finished, returning to German to pique the waiter’s interest.
Hans didn’t hide his approval, his chuckle, his eyes flicking back to the waiter, all served to make the man think they were discussing him. Was it any wonder he found something to do at the empty table to their left? “And what would you like me to do, my dear?”
“First, I want you to stop calling me ‘my dear’, I sound like a child. Second, I want the table between us. You see, I think I would like to see you fling it away in your passion. Do you feel passion, Colonel? Or is this conversation only for my benefit?”
“You little jade,” Hans lifted a hand to his chest, smoothing the front of his shirt when he really wanted to clap his hands in approval. “I do believe you’ve joined the game.”
“Isn’t that quite obvious?” Julie leaned her elbow on the table, something her mother would have boxed her ears for, and rested her chin on the heel of her hand. “Now, what was this about my buttons?”
Hans leaned back in his chair, making a show of adjusting the napkin in his lap. His mind worked quickly. “The blouse is silk, no? I’m afraid my lips would ruin it. I’ve a fantasy of discovering those budding nipples through that silk, lingering over first the left, then the right, perhaps rolling the peaks between my fingers. would you like that?”
Julie forced herself to remain calm, to breathe slowly through her nose as though nothing was amiss and her heart wasn’t pounding so hard she wanted to check to see if it was making her blouse flutter. “I shouldn’t wonder,” she made a show of helping herself to a bite of her own pastry. “But I could only enjoy it for so long, you know. That kind of teasing would get old, don’t you agree?”
“Some would tell you anticipation is the best part,” he sipped his coffee thoughtfully. “But I think you might be right. After discovering all the wonders of your breasts through that blouse, I would grow bored rather quickly. Unfortunately I’m a bit of a lout when I’m bored, you see, your blouse wouldn’t survive.”
“Tear it, would you?” she didn’t keep the amusement from her voice and the waiter lifted his head from where he was folding napkins at the next table.
“Oh, I should say so. Clean off your back. Then I’ll take a moment to enjoy that arresting camisole. Satin, I think, with wide lace edging. Tucked most becomingly into that skirt, yes?”
“Oh yes,” Julie’s left hand clenched hard in her linen napkin. “But I grow bored of what you will do, Colonel. Let’s say you are doing it, shall we?”
Where had this confident seductress come from? Julie enjoyed the sound of her voice as it dropped to a lower, sultrier, register. Landa sat up a little straighter. “For instance, right now my foot is inching across the floor under the table so that my toe can slide delicately up your calf.” It wasn’t, but the look that flashed in his eyes for a split second told her that he could feel it against his ankle.
“Yes?” he nonchalantly sipped his coffee. Julie marveled at his self control.
“I’ve kicked off my shoe, most improper of me, don’t you think? Anyone can see that just by looking at our table. But I can’t help myself, can I? My toe is inching slowly up your leg, the linen of your suit-is that linen, Colonel?-feels delicious against my stocking.”
She forced herself to take a bite of the too sweet pastry. To chew it mechanically, as though she were bored, and swallow, looking off and to the side at the fat business man three tables over.
“Ah yes, those delightful little toes of yours, my darling,” Hans placed his fork on his empty desert plate and moved it away from his place setting. The waiter would return to pick it up, “I’m reaching under the table now to catch your foot, and you’ve painted your toe nails for me. A most fetching red, I think. Right now I’m running my index finger over the arch of your foot, do you feel it?”
Julie closed her eyes and jerked her head. She hoped she appeared completely annoyed and not ridiculously aroused. “Yes,” she managed to bite out, her feet were always ticklish.
“I believe you’re right about the table. After inspecting your delightful toes, I must confess I’m overcome. I’m grasping it now, intending to completely overturn it. Are you frightened?”
“No,” his hand rested on the edge of the table, his fingers curled around it, his thumb tapping a gentle staccato against the table cloth. “I want you to. I want you to send the China scattering and the pastries rolling. And you are. You’re flying across the inches between us now and your fingers are curling around my upper arms and I like that they’re digging into my flesh.” The gentle flush that started in her cheeks moved to her neck. Julie knew there was no hiding it, but she hoped the wait staff would think she was simply warm.
The waiter returned to take Landa’s plate away. Hans lifted a finger from the edge of the table, “Some water for Miss Henderson, I think, Jeremy, she’s a bit flushed, don’t you agree?”
“Are you alright, Miss Henderson?” The waiter, the same waiter who was convinced they were mocking him, looked mildly concerned. Julie tried to ignore the butterflies in her belly. She found, to her shame, she didn’t trust herself to speak.
“I’m fine, thank you. Just,” her breath hitched and she resisted the urge to glare at Landa, “just the water.”
“Of course, Miss Henderson, right away.”
“He knows something’s wrong, Julia,” Hans’ voice was an amused purr. “He’s going to return with the host. What will we tell them when they arrive and I’m tearing your blouse from your body, your arresting camisole from your shoulders. Shall I shield your breasts from their eyes? Protect your modesty?”
“No,” Julie licked her lips quickly, surprised that suddenly there was sensuality in that simple gesture. The butterflies in her belly were traveling lower. “Let them look. To be honest I don’t care, I’m too busy fighting the buttons on that shirt. I’ve always hated men’s shirts. Those tiny buttons and the starchy fabric aren’t very conducive to this kind of thing, are they? I’m tasting your skin, Colonel, do you feel my lips against your neck?”
“Yes,” his face was a mask of polite indifference, but his eyes glittered and Julie gloried in knowing she affected him. “I confess I cannot stop myself from ripping your skirt. In my haste it seems I’ve forgotten to find the zipper and instead I’m simply jerking it up your legs. Does it hurt, little one?”
“No, not at all, I think I like it,” Julie had had trysts before. But nothing either of those boys had done to her compared to this feeling that was building inside her. “You know, I so wanted to see you today. I was in such a hurry this morning to get dressed. How does it feel to discover that I’m wearing nothing under my skirt but garters, Colonel?”
“Miss Henderson, I understand you’re feeling unwell?” The host’s voice cut through the conversation and Landa’s shuttered look of annoyance almost made Julie giggle aloud.
“I’m fine, thank you, simply a little warm.” Julie accepted the water goblet and took a small sip. “Perhaps it’s that I’m sitting under a light. What do you think, Hans?” Julie turned inquisitive eyes to Landa.
“Oh, undoubtedly the light,” he smiled arrestingly at the waiter, “Jeremy, I believe I’d like a dish of ice cream. I don’t normally indulge myself in so many sweets, but your desert chef should be commended. The pastry was spectacular.”
“Thank you, sir,” the waiter looked at Julie. “Ma’am, would you like-“
“And for her as well, I think.” Landa cut in cleanly. He returned his attention to Julie, effectively cutting the others out of the conversation. “You would like ice cream, wouldn’t you, you little wanton. Would you enjoy it as the treat melted on your tongue?”
“You’re very rude to them, Hans,” Julie smiled sweetly, but dismissively at the host and turned her attention back to Landa. “They’re kind enough to bring us refreshment and ignore our current state of dishabille, don’t you agree?”
“Oh, undoubtedly,” He inclined his head at her water glass, “Now that I’ve taken care of that fetching skirt, I cannot help myself from playing with your woman’s curls. You do enjoy that, don’t you? The feel of my fingers against you?”
“Yes,” she bit out, unable to stop her body from swaying forward. She hastily grabbed the water goblet to cover the movement. “Your trousers are proving to be a difficulty and it’s quite unfair, you know.”
“Yes, I know, but I’m delighted at how ready for me you are, my lovely. I’m pulling you from your chair, laying you out on the carpet, and your thighs are falling open most helpfully.”
“I’m very cooperative,” she murmured dryly, taking a hasty sip of the water.
“And I’m most glad, you’re so very, very ready for me, aren’t you?” He narrowed his eyes like a hunter on a scent and then grinned, “Your wetness is on my fingers and I’m using it to paint your lips,” he said conversationally as the twin dishes of vanilla ice cream arrived. “How does it taste?”
Julie’s face flamed completely red when she realized he’d spoken in English. So intent was she on the German that she almost answered him erotically. Instead she realized the waiter stood at the table expectantly, waiting for her approval on the silly ice cream. Julie forced herself to take a mouthful, larger than she intended and swallow. “It’s very good,” she complimented.
Landa’s eyes danced with triumphant delight, “You taste of cream, did you know that? Before I enter you, I’m going to taste you myself. I’m on my knees now, between your thighs. My lips pressed to your woman’s lips, my tongue searching. Do you feel it, Julia? Can you feel my mouth?”
Julie forced herself to take a nonchalant spoonful of the ice cream so she’d have an excuse to squeeze her eyes closed and murmur, “God!” without arousing suspicion. “You’re making me sweat, Hans, I can feel it trickling between my breasts,” and that was a truth in their little charade, “I want you to lick the sweat away, I want your mouth on my mouth, will you oblige me? Or shall I beg?”
“There will be no begging between us my pet, I’ll oblige,” he had a bit of ice cream on his lip and Julie wanted to moan, to wipe it away with her thumb, to lean across the table and taste his lip, “I don’t know why you had trouble with my trousers, little one, they fall open for me.”
“Yes, you’re heavy against my thigh, I can feel you there and I’m moaning against your lips. Tell me something: what do I taste like, Hans?”
He inclined his head as though in agreement, “Sweet, real cream, none of this synthetic American garbage. I must admit, tasting you might just be the highlight of my lunch,” he chuckled politely at his own joke and sipped what was left of his coffee.
“You’re going to make me beg, aren’t you? I can’t stand it, Hans, your fingers on my breasts, your lips on mine, your body above me and yet you’re not-“
“Do you want me inside you, little Julia?”
“Yes,” She nodded her head sharply to the affirmative, for a moment sounding all business, “Now.”
“German, my pet,” he finished off his coffee, “I’ve never been so aroused by a woman before. Funny that it’s you, fitting that it’s you, with your hair curling under my hands, that delicious smattering of freckles over your nose, and those eyes…I do believe you’re devouring me with your eyes, Julia.”
“I want to feel you in me, Hans.”
“And so I am,” he waved at the waiter and as the man set about filling his water glass, Landa leaned infinitesimally forward, “My first thrust has caught you by surprise, I’m afraid, you’re gasping against my neck. Have I hurt you, my delicate flower?”
Julie wanted to rock in her chair, instead she clenched her thighs together tightly, glad of the table cloth so that she could cross her legs in a most unladylike manner. “No, I quite like it,” Landa grinned, infectious laughter threatening to bubble from his throat. Julie caught the waiter’s eye, “The ice cream.” She turned her attention back to the Colonel, “You’re filling me up, you know. But don’t tease, please, it’s driving me mad.”
“You want me to move in you?”
“Yes.”
“Do you feel me thrusting?” The waiter removed Landa’s empty ice cream dish, “Do you like it like this, my love?” The waiter retreated to the kitchen.
“Yes, just like this,” The butterflies had become something else, a pulsing thing inside her, starting in her lower belly and traveling outward. It took all of Julie’s self control not to groan, not to let it show on her face. “Harder, Hans, I want to feel you!”
“Like this?” He clenched his jaw for a moment, but only a moment. Hans Landa wasn’t without his own iron self control. “Do you feel that, Julia?”
“Yes. I’m wrapping my legs around your waist, I’m glad you don’t pomade your hair because I can twine my fingers in it-- faster.”
“Harder.”
“Harder.”
“Quick.”
“Like that.”
“Longer.”
“Yes.”
“Fast.”
“Yes.”
“Now.”
“No, now.”
“Now.”
“Oh!”
“Yes-!” His laughter rang out across the dining room. He clapped his hands together because he had to do something.
Julie collapsed back against her chair for a brief moment and then immediately straightened. She was proud of the fact that her breathing was steady. That her hands were not shaking as she took a sip of what was left of her water. The silence stretched, became painful for her in the bustle of the busy lunch rush. “Thank you for lunch,” she said finally, because she had to say something.
“Thank your superiors,” he said affably, “as always it will be billed to them. I’m sorry you weren’t able to extract your names, Julia. Perhaps you’ll have better luck next week, yes?”
Julie lifted her chin. Next week. “I’m afraid there won’t be a next week, Colonel, We cannot keep wasting our time with your transition if you refuse to be cooperative.”
Landa’s eyes danced. “Oh, I see.” He reached into his breast pocket and extracted a fountain pen. He didn't take his eyes from hers as he wrote, very deliberately on his napkin, “Will you ask them to send someone else in your stead?”
“I don’t think I’ll have a choice in the matter, Colonel. If the OSS chooses to send someone new, then they’ll send someone new, if not then perhaps you’ll be left alone. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“Yes, I suppose it was,” he cocked his head, considering her like a bird, “should the OSS decide to continue sending someone, it would be best if it were you?” He folded the napkin quickly and tossed it across the table.
“Oh yes?” Julie leaned down and retrieved her valise, shoving the linen napkin in distractedly. “Why is that?”
“It would be a shame to waste the rapport we’ve developed, don’t you agree? I must confess I’ve never been so obliging to another agent. And it would do wonders for your career, don’t you think?”
Julie stared at him.
“I trust I’ll see you next week, my dear?” he reached down and produced a slim attaché case of his own. When she didn’t answer he rose, smoothly holding the case in front of him at waist level so as to refrain from knocking other diners. “Until then?”
“Of course, Colonel,” Julie answered faintly. Her eyes were on the flash of wetness at the front of his trousers, seen only briefly becuase of his hold on the attaché case.
As he passed her he bent, lips just brushing her ear, “You must call me Hans.”
Fin.